The Butler Did It
by Purupuss
Summary: The old Hollywood trope is that the butler did it. He always did it... But did he?
1. Chapter 1

I've long wanted to write a Thunderbirds story with this title, but the Mews has been reluctant to feed the actual scenario to me, preferring to supply me with more in depth action. And then one day she fed me her tale, and I found the time to write it down.

As usual, I would like to thank my proofreaders Quiller, D.C., and Beadbird for their assistance with proofing this story. I would also like to acknowledge Gordon's gremlins, who, despite many reading and re-readings, will do their best to slip in the occasional typo.

Also as usual, I will admit that none of the characters, except for one, belong to me. The Thunderbirds cast and crew belong to ITV and I'm so glad that I get the opportunity to play with them.

 _This story was published on Fan Fiction dot net. If you are reading it elsewhere, it is a stolen copy. I usually do not mind people displaying my stories elsewhere, but I do appreciate the courtesy of being asked if the site, or C2, it is being displayed on is acceptable. Thank you._

FAB

:-) Purupuss

* * *

 **The Butler Did It**

"Why are we watching this?"

Gordon twisted in his seat, so he could see his younger brother. "You know why. Because it's too hot to do anything else."

This was true. It had been a week since International Rescue's services had last been required, and in the time since everything that had to be done had been done. The debriefing over the (successful) rescue had been held, post flight checks had been performed, maintenance and repairs taken care of, and now there was nothing productive left to fill in the hours. Research and development was an option, but with guests, in the form of Lady Penelope and Parker, having joined the family for a break on the tropical Tracy Island, and the oppressive heat, no one was inclined to do any work.

The thermometer was creeping into the low 40s and threatening to go even higher. This was why the four Tracy sons, John being on duty in Thunderbird Five, had retreated to the family cinema. The enclosed, windowless room had the best air conditioning unit in the complex.

But, although the decision to congregate in the cinema had been easy, deciding which movie to watch seemed to tax their overheated brains.

What made the decision even harder to make was that the four boys had four totally different cinematic interests and they knew that there was the prospect of their guests joining them. They had eventually solved the impasse by playing "movie roulette". That was they'd got the computer to choose the movie for them, on the understanding that no one was to complain nor walk out of the showing. This was why they were all sitting there, enduring an old black and white murder mystery, and contemplating their lives passing by with nothing to show for it.

That was until Alan had made his opening remark. "Is anyone enjoying this?"

No one was but, understanding the rules of movie roulette, no one was willing to speak out.

Keen to distance himself from the question, Virgil got to his feet. "Anyone want an ice cream?" He walked across to the refreshment kiosk at the side of the room and started the computer.

Relieved to finally find something to interest him, Scott perked up. "Grandma's homemade?"

"Nope. Sorry." Virgil scrolled through the list of confectionaries. "Bear Blocks."

"What flavours?"

"Chocolate, vanilla..." Virgil tapped the screen, "mint, and... strawberry."

"I'll have chocolate, thanks."

The computer retrieved everyone's selections from the vast freezer in one of the storerooms, sending four polar bear shaped parcels along a conveyor belt, and for a short time the brothers enjoyed the sight of creamy ice cream and listening to the sound of crinkling wrappers more than watching the movie.

They eventually settled back to a scene that hadn't changed since before Virgil's interruption. An excess of black wood filled the screen as equally wooden actors stalked across from stage left to stage right, and wrung their hands in an approximation of acting.

Gordon took a big lick of his ice cream. "Know what would make this better?"

"Chocolate syrup and nuts?" Scott guessed.

"No... Well, yes... But I meant the film. Why don't we pause here, go and get Virgil's keyboard, and then he can play the soundtrack like an old silent movie?"

Virgil groaned. "That sounds too much like hard work."

"Not if we supply the voiceover."

"That also sounds like hard work," Alan told him. "Even in here it's too hot to think."

"And we don't know what's going to happen next," Scott reminded his aquanaut brother. "I haven't seen this movie before, have you?"

"No."

"Virg?"

"If I have, I've banished it from my memory."

"We know what's going to happen," Alan scoffed. "We've already had one murder. Any time soon there's gonna be another. The hero will find this second body and be blamed for both murders. Fighting to clear his name he'll realise that the second victim is someone who's been hunting the killer themselves and had got too close to the truth. Then the murderer will kidnap the heroine, and the hero will rescue her from deadly peril..."

"Where she's been tied to railroad tracks in the path of an incoming train," Gordon added, enjoying Alan's plot more than the actual movie.

"...Just in the nick of time. And just in time to reveal whodunnit."

"And who did it, Alan?" Virgil queried.

"The butler, of course."

"The butler?"

"Yeah. The butler did it. No one takes any notice of them because they're so ubiquitous. In those old houses they're just like a piece of the furniture. They're anywhere and everywhere and know everyone's secrets. They know where all the little hidey holes and secret corridors are, so they can appear out of nowhere, do the deed, and then sneak away without anyone seeing them."

"Alan..."

"The butler always does it. They're all crooks and you can't trust any of them." Alan saw Virgil's surreptitious "shut up" movement, heard Gordon's squeak of protest, saw Scott hit the pause button, heard a noise behind him, and turned. "Uh... Hi, Parker."

Parker had heard Alan's monologue. Heard and not been impressed. "Mister Tracy."

"Dad? Is he here?" Alan joked, trying to ease the sudden tension by pretending to look around him. "Last time I saw him, he was entertaining Lady Penelope."

"Me father was not a crook."

"No...?"

Parker gave the youngest Tracy a cold stare. "Neither was me grandfather. They was both butlers h-and proud to be so."

"I'm sure they were. It's an honourable profession."

"They was trusted by their lords h-and masters. Trust means a lot."

"I agree… Ah. W-Would you like to join us watching th-the, erm movie?" Alan queried. "We, erm, we were just discussing its merits." He indicated over his shoulder to the black and white frame that was frozen on screen. "It has the same old hackneyed scripts as all the others of the era. Don't you think that old films are full of unimaginative stereotypes?" he gabbled. "You know the type of thing: The lord of the manor's a confused old miser. The lady of the house spends all her time running other people's lives. The son's got the maid into trouble, the daughter's making a play for the gardener, and the butler's a crook stealing the family jewels." He saw Parker's eyes narrow. "You know what these old movies are like. Totally unbelievable."

"Me mother was a maid. She loved me father. She was faithful to 'im."

"I'm, er, sure she did... er... was."

"Sit down and join us, Parker," Scott offered.

Gordon nodded his head a little too enthusiastically. "If you'd rather watch something else, we don't mind putting this one back in its can. We've got thousands to choose from."

"Yeah. And we've got ice cream," Virgil added, as he leapt up and brought the computer back to life. "What flavour would you like?"

Scott moved along one seat. "Sit next to me. It's the best view in the theatre."

Gordon was scrolling through the Tracys' vast database of film. "What do you feel like watching? Something where the butler's the hero? How about..." His search brought up a name. "Jeeves and Wooster."

"Jeeves was h-a val-let, not h-a butler," Parker told him.

"Oh."

"Technically, you're not a butler either, are you?" Trying to make amends, Alan fixed the older man with an ingratiating grin. "You do more than, ah, butlering, don't you, Parker? You're Penny's chauffeur as well. And trusted sidekick."

"H-And a crook. Just like the fil-im."

Alan was about to disagree with the former safecracker, and then decided against it.

"H-I did time h-at 'is Majesty's pleasure. But me fam'ly was 'as 'onest h-as the day h-is long."

"I'm sure they were. I wasn't saying that all butlers are crooks," Alan protested. "Just that all old Hollywood movie butlers are. You know – It's the American idea of the English aristocracy."

He was fixed with a hard stare. "You're H-American, Mister Tracy."

Alan found himself wishing he wasn't.

"H-It was h-only because no h-one wanted butlers that H-I went h-into thievery. H-I 'ad to make a livin'."

"I know, Parker, you've told us your story."

"'Er Ladyship gave me h-a chance when no one h-else would."

"I, erm, we know..."

"H-And H-I'm proud to butle fer 'er ladyship."

"Butle?"

"H-And she h-appreciates me skills. Me crooked h-ones h-and h-all."

"And we know that Penny, uh, Lady Penelope h-appreciates, erm, I mean, appreciates all your talents."

"H-And, may I remind you, Mister Tracy…"

Alan realised that if Parker's overly formal address was designed to put him in his place... it was working.

"…that you, h-and your fam-hily, h-and your h-organisation 'ave h-all made use of me crookedness."

"I know, Parker, and we appreciate…"

"H-And you liked listening to stories h-about me crooked life, Mister Tracy."

Alan remembered the multitude of times that he's sat close to Parker and listened, riveted, to the tales that were being spun. "I never thought that you were as crooked as you told us."

Parker pulled himself up taller. "You callin' me h-a liar?"

Alan heard at least one of his brothers make a _Be quiet Alan before you dig yourself into a deeper hole_ sound. "No! Of course not. But I did think that you may have... perhaps... exaggerated some of your stories to make them more exciting."

"They are exciting," Scott offered, trying to take the heat off Alan. "I often think that you should write them down. You could make a fortune if you published them."

Parker's stare shifted to him, giving the younger Tracy a brief reprieve. "When, h-according to... your brother, no h-one would believe 'em?"

"Most people buy books for the entertainment value and not for the facts," Virgil reminded him. "Look at all the books on International Rescue that have been written. Not one of them is factual. People buy then because they're a good read."

"Well... Most of them are a good read," Gordon corrected. "...Some of them... One or two."

"We'll forget this movie, Parker," Scott told him. "Come and sit down and tell us what you want to watch. It's bound to be better than this old thing." He banished the scene on screen to the archives with a press of a button.

"No thank you, Mister Tracy. 'Er Ladyship may require me services. H-I 'ave to be ready for 'er call." And, with all the dignity you'd expect of someone of his profession, Parker withdrew from the room.

Alan collapsed into the nearest chair. "I didn't mean to upset him."

"We know, Alan," Scott reassured him, as he got to his feet. "It's probably the heat making him irritable. I'll go and explain that you weren't saying anything against him, his family, or his profession; just that you were making a comment about the quality of Hollywood filmmaking from early last century."

"Thanks, Scott." Following his brother's example, Alan stood. "And I'll go an explain to Lady Penelope that it's not Parker's fault if he's a little out of sorts."

-F-A-B-

Scott tracked Parker down to the Englishman's home away from home when staying on Tracy Island. He knocked on the door. "May I come in?"

Parker snapped to attention. "H-It's your 'ouse, Mister Tracy."

"This is your room." Scott stepped inside, feeling the full blast of the air conditioner hit him. He closed the door behind him.

He regarded the man standing ramrod straight before him and reflected that, since Parker had chosen to don his thick woollen uniform, he could understand why he'd felt the need to switch the air con up to blizzard force. "Alan's sorry if you feel he insulted you and your family. He didn't mean to."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

This wasn't an acknowledgement of the apology, Scott realised. It was an acknowledgement that he was being listened to. "He wasn't enjoying the movie, none of us were, and he was trying to cheer us up and give us a reason to watch it by saying what he thought was going to happen."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

"You've got to remember that we're not used to having butlers about the place. We grew up on Air Force bases and in cramped apartment blocks. When we went on vacation we went to a Kansas wheat farm. Even after Father made his money and we had to mix with high society, we'd never met a real butler until we met you. Up till then our only experience of butlers was in those old films. Even here..." taking a step closer to a tightly closed window, Scott indicated the wider Tracy Island, "we don't have a butler. That's because we could never find one that we could trust. Not like we trust you."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

It didn't take someone of Scott's intellect to realise that Parker's most prominent feature was well and truly out of joint. "Parker..." he ground out, exasperated by the other's formal aloofness. "We all trust you, because you've never given us any reason not to. And we've all enjoyed listening to your stories. No one can spin a yarn better than you."

"Yes, Mister Tracy. Thank you, Mr Tracy. May H-I speak, Mister Tracy?"

Scott felt a moment's relief. "Of course."

"H-I 'ave me duties Mister Tracy. H-I h-am h-employed by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward to look h-after 'er. You h-are forcing me to neglect me duties. Would you excuse me, Mister Tracy?"

And Scott found himself in the hallway wondering how he'd managed to be forced out of the room with dignity and yet no option other than to obey.

-F-A-B-

Parker's employer was lounging in the shade of a palm tree. She looked up when she heard the quiet sound of a tread on the frond-strewn sands. "Hello, Alan."

"May I have a word, Lady Penelope?"

"Lady Penelope?" she echoed. "This sounds dreadfully formal."

"Sorry." He managed an abashed grin. "I've just been put into my place, and I've come to warn you."

"Warn me?" Lady Penelope sat up; swinging her legs over the side of her deckchair, so she was able to give him her full attention. She indicated the chair next to hers. "Please explain."

"We were in the cinema watching an old movie," he began. "It was an old black and white thing; a murder mystery. None of us were enjoying it, so we were trying to think of ways to make it better. I was telling the fellas what I thought was going to happen, when I made the mistake of saying that the butler did it; the butler always did it; and that you couldn't trust butlers."

"'It' being the murder."

"Right. I was in the middle of my speech when Parker came in. He thought I was generalising about his profession..."

A delicate eyebrow was raised. "That all butlers are murderers?"

"That all butlers are crooks and can't be trusted. He wasn't impressed with me."

"He does come from a long, proud line of butlers. Honest butlers."

"I know. He told us. And then I, I don't know that questioned is the right word, but I made a comment about how I thought he embellished those stories he tells us. That got him even more uptight. I tried to apologise, but I'm afraid I've put him into a bad mood and I wanted to explain in case he inflicts it on you. Scott's gone to talk to him. But if that doesn't work, I ask that you go easy on Parker, Penny. It's my fault, not his."

There was a discreet cough from behind them. "M'Lady."

"Parker?"

He was standing there, buttoned up from neck to toe despite the heat, all starchily formal in his full uniform, right down to his pure white gloves. One of those gloved hands was pressed to his back, whilst the other presented a silver salver on which resided a single tall glass, filled with some refreshing beverage and topped with ice. The only thing that spoilt his appearance as the complete Lady's gentleman, were the beads of sweat standing just as proud on his brow. "Your drink, m'Lady." He bowed, salver held out to her and his back to Alan.

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope accepted the drink, placing it on the table beside her. "Now, this is supposed to be a holiday for you as well. Why don't you get into something cooler and find somewhere to relax?"

"Yeah!" Alan enthused. "And then I could bring you a drink. What would you like?"

"Thank you, m'Lady." Parker continued to ignore Alan. "But H-I h-am qwite comfortable." A bead of sweat rolled down his nose, hovered there for a second, and dropped off.

"Do go inside, Parker," Lady Penelope extolled. "It would not do for you to get heatstroke. If I need your services I shall send for you."

"Yes, m'Lady. Thank you, m'Lady." With a stiffly formal bow, Parker withdrew.

Alan grimaced at his friend. "See what I mean."

"I shall give him time to, ah, cool down," Lady Penelope suggested. "If his mood has not improved by this evening, then I shall have a talk to him."

"Thanks, Penny. I really like Parker and I do trust him. I don't like that I've upset him."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was later that same day and much of the heat had dissipated, when Virgil approached his piano. He loved the tranquillity of Tracy Island; it being a contrast to the hectic, seat-of-the-pants, life-and-death world of International Rescue. Unfortunately, his piano was less keen on the tropical sea air that was wafting in through the open patio doors and would go out of tune if he didn't take regular steps to rectify it. He'd already aborted the start of this chore when Scott had called a brief meeting of the brothers to tell them that his and Alan's grovelling hadn't worked, and that Parker was still out of sorts.

It was with this in mind that Virgil returned to the tools laid out on a tray kept specifically for this purpose.

He lifted the lid of the piano and peered inside, searching for visible signs that the strings had lost their tension.

"Tuning time again?" his father asked as he returned to his desk.

His head buried inside the piano, Virgil didn't look at him. "Uh, huh."

"I was going to give John a call. Will that disturb you?"

The bottom sticking out of the musical instrument responded with a "Nope."

"Good." Leaving his son to it, Jeff turned back to the row of portraits. "Calling Thunderbird Five." His hand reached out for his pen.

John's appearance was heralded by the sound of plucking strings. "Thunderbird Five. What can I do for you, Dad?" He heard a scale being played. "I see it's tuning time."

"It is," Jeff grunted. "I'm just checking to see how you are." Unable to find the pen, he felt the papers that lay strewn across his desk.

"All good."

"Do you need anything?"

"Nothing urgent. I've already sent the shopping list down to Brains for Thursday's changeover and he says he's got everything in hand... How's everything down there?"

Jeff had considered giving his son a heads up over Parker's problems and had decided that they'd probably have blown over after the butler had had a good night's sleep. And if they hadn't, there was no point in alerting John when he was 36,000 kilometres away. "Good."

"Penny and Parker enjoying their vacation?"

"Penny is. I think Parker finds it difficult to relax when he's still around _'er Ladyship_."

"He should consider having a vacation by himself sometime. Maybe go on a cruise so he can have the pleasure of people waiting on him for a change." Something caught John's attention out of the corner of his eye. "Have you lost something, Virgil?"

Virgil straightened from where he'd been crawling around on all fours underneath the piano. "Have you seen my tuning fork?"

"Not from here."

Jeff stood, so he could get a better view of the tuning tray. "Your mother's one?"

Virgil was running his hand along the edge of the wall in the unlikely hope that the two-tined instrument had disappeared behind the carpet. "Yes."

"Was it there when you laid out your tools?"

"Yes." Virgil got back to his feet and stood, looking perplexed, staring down at the tray. "At least I think so. I thought I'd laid it on the cleaning cloth like I always do, but it's become such second nature that I'm only assuming I did. Maybe I took it through to Scott's room when we had that meeting... I'd better go and check." He hurried out of the room.

"Bye, Virgil," John called after him. "See you late...ter." He grinned down at his dad. "So much for brotherly love."

"You know what that tuning fork means to him," Jeff reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. I'd be killed if I touched it without permission and without wearing gloves. Is it worth much? Monetarily?"

"It probably means more to him sentimentally, but it cost me about two months of an airman's salary. Your mother and I could only go to places that were free until my next payday."

John let out a low whistle. "I would never have guessed that something like that would be so expensive."

"I wanted one that was top quality; both because I knew she'd appreciate it and because I knew what it would mean to her. And the engagement ring threaded onto it increased its value."

John smiled at his father's recollections, and was about to sign off when they were interrupted.

"I'm telling you that it's not in my room, Virg."

"It's only there, the corridor, and here that it could be." Virgil made a beeline back to the tray. He gazed at it as if hopeful that the tuning fork had materialised out of thin air.

"Well, it's not in Scott's room and we've examined the corridor, so this is the only place left," Alan told him. "You must have put it down somewhere in here."

"I didn't! The only place I put it; that I always put it; is on its cloth on the tray."

Jeff looked up at the figure on the wall. "I'll see what I can do to help. See you tomorrow, John."

"Bye, Dad."

Gordon was on his knees, peering underneath the tray as if the tuning fork had made a bid for freedom and was laying low until it could make its escape. "How long did you lay everything out before Scott called the meeting?"

"Maybe a minute. I wouldn't have done it if I had known I was going to have to leave it."

"Sorry, Virg," Scott apologised. He watched his brother peer inside the piano. "Was anyone else in here then?"

Virgil frowned in thought. "I don't think so... I heard Gordon coming up the stairs to go to your meeting..."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I could hear your wet feet slapping on the steps. But I'd left the lounge by the time you got here."

"And I didn't take it."

"No one's accusing you, Gordon," Scott told him. "Do you remember seeing anyone else around that time, Virg?"

"Parker walked through, but he was checking on whether Penny was still under the tree. I'd assume that he went back to his room when he realised she wasn't."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Are you sure you didn't go anyplace else before or after our meeting?"

"Positive."

"And I'm just as positive that it's not there, but I'll go and have another look in my room."

"Thanks, Scott." Virgil's head was back in the piano. His brothers, with a shrug that said that they thought they were wasting their time, got on all fours and checked under the couches.

Jeff entered the room again, carrying two items adorned with the International Rescue logo. "Use this," he suggested, handing one to Virgil. "You start here, and I'll take this one into Scott's suite and retrace your steps." He set the dial on the metal detector.

"How's that going to work?" Alan asked. "There's so much metal in this place that the detector's going to overload."

He wilted under his father's stare. "It's precious in more ways than one. I've set them both to hunt out the exact frequency of the metal it's made of."

But, even with the sophisticated help of the metal detectors, Virgil's tuning fork was nowhere to be found.

Scott put a sympathetic arm about his brother's downcast shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It'll turn up when you're not looking for it."

Everyone (except for Virgil) would have forgotten about the misplaced item if it hadn't been for events later that evening.

"Virgil!" Gordon stormed into the lounge. He fetched up nose-to-nose with his brother. "Where is it!?"

Startled by the unexpected intrusion into his personal space, Virgil took a step backwards. "Where's what? The only thing that's missing is my..."

"I don't care about your silly tuning fork! What did you do with my medal?"

"Huh?" Now on a surer footing, Virgil squared up to him. "I haven't touched your medal. I haven't _seen_ your medal! I haven't been in your room in weeks."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You think I took your fork and this is your revenge."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had, but I haven't taken your medal!"

"Hold on! Hold on!" Scott stepped between his two brothers. "Which medal, Gordon?"

His irate brother swung towards him. "My Olympic gold, of course!"

Jeff, who'd only been a step behind Scott, frowned. "Why do you think someone's taken it? Is the case broken?"

"No."

"Did someone unlock it?"

"No. I'd taken the medal out to clean it."

Scott gave a knowing nod. "Then it's probably still in your room somewhere. Do you want me to go and have a look?"

"I've checked everywhere."

"I'm sure you have, but a fresh pair of eyes might see it where you missed it."

Gordon doubted it, but he gave a grudging nod of agreement.

Glad that at least one son was retaining his cool, Jeff turned back to one who wasn't. "Right, Gordon… You'd taken your medal out of the case…"

"Yes."

"And put it where…?"

"On my table where I clean it."

Still aggrieved by the accusation of theft, Virgil glared at him. "That's the only clean spot in your entire suite. The rest of it's a pigsty. No wonder you've lost your medal!"

"Virgil…" Jeff warned, before turning back to his auburn-haired son. "What did you do after you put it on your table, Gordon?"

Exasperated that he was having to explain what, to him, was obvious, Gordon exploded. "I polished it!"

"And that's all you do with it," Virgil snarled. "It's a wonder you haven't worn it away."

"You don't do much more with your precious fork!"

"My tuning fork is a precision tool!"

"It takes one to know one!"

"And you're…"

"Virgil!" Jeff barked. "Go and sit over there."

"Yeah, Fido! Sit!" Gordon jeered. "That's a good boy!"

Jeff's face darkened. "Gordon…"

Although less than impressed at being ordered about by his father and even more annoyed by Gordon's taunts, Virgil obeyed. He sat on the easy chair, his eyes scanning the lounge for his lost treasure.

Jeff fixed his attention back on his Olympian son. "Right..." He took a deep breath and prepared himself for another onslaught. "Where did you last see it? Could you have put it somewhere other than your table?"

"No."

"Did you..." Jeff considered likely scenarios. "Have a rag or something that you were going to clean it with that you took somewhere else or... threw away?"

"Threw away!?" Gordon yelped. "No, I didn't!"

"I'm just trying think logically. Did you have any books or magazines that it could have got caught between the pages?"

"No!"

"Are you sure you took it out of the box?"

"Of course, I'm sure! It's! Not! There!"

"Calm down, I'm trying to help."

Jeff's hope that Scott's return might lay the matter to rest was short-lived when his eldest son entered the lounge. "I can't see it anywhere. Mind you, your room's such a mess, Gordon, it could be laying in plain sight and we wouldn't see it."

"I told you it's not in my room. You should be searching his." Gordon flicked his head in Virgil's direction.

Despite his preoccupation with his lost tuning fork, Virgil had been following the conversation. Now he leapt to his feet. "I didn't steal your medal!"

"Then prove it! Let them search your room!"

"It's not there!"

"Then it must be in Thunderbird Two!"

"Leave her out of this!

"Boys! Quiet!" Jeff snapped. "Now… I want you both to stop, take a deep breath…" He demonstrated the action. "…and think… Where could you have put your medal, Gordon?"

"I put it on my table!"

Jeff held up his hand. "And where could you have put your tuning fork, Virgil?

"Nowhere. I didn't take it out of this room!"

Treading lightly, Scott began his next statement with a cautious: "Virgil..."

"What!?"

"While I was searching Gordon's rooms…" Scott cast a quick glance at his aquatic brother. "I was also looking for your tuning fork."

It was his turn to have Gordon's full fury turned on him. "You did what!?"

"I'm not saying that I think you took it, either of you, but I thought it wouldn't hurt. Just in case it got caught up in your towel or something and you didn't know you had it." It was Scott's turn to take a deep breath. "Virgil... Will you let me search your room for your tuning fork and Gordon's medal at the same time?"

"I haven't got Gordon's medal!"

"I believe you, but what if you do have it accidentally?"

"How? I haven't been near his medal. I haven't been in his room!"

"I know that, but this'll prove it... Okay...?"

"Fine," Virgil snapped. "Go and search my room. Search Thunderbird Two. Search the workshops. But you won't find anything."

"He won't be able to," Gordon taunted. "If you think my room's a pigsty, yours is a dump!"

"Gordon," Jeff commanded, as his eldest son left the room on his unfortunate errand. "Go and have a swim. That might cool you down."

"I don't want a swim!"

"Then go and work on Thunderbird Four."

"I'm not going anywhere until my medal's returned to me."

Realising that this was an argument that he had no hope of winning, and wanting to keep the tension to a minimum, Jeff returned to his desk to jot down a few notes.

He barely had the chance to look for his pen, when Virgil, still fuming at the invasion of his private space, retreated to the piano and began to play a tune that spoke volumes about his mood. A mood that got worse at the occasional discordant notes the instrument was producing.

Gordon's mood wasn't much better. "Can't you get that thing in tune?"

"Of course not. I don't have my tuning fork!"

"Why do you need such an antiquated hunk of metal anyway? Aren't there are electronic versions that are better?"

Virgil showed what he thought of Gordon's suggestion by slamming down the lid of the keyboard and storming outside. He started minutely examining the patio before continuing his examination one descending stair at a time.

Gordon watched his brother's slow methodical, but ultimately futile, process. "He's lost it."

Deciding to ignore him, and still looking for his favourite pen, Jeff shifted some papers.

It was at that moment that both Alan and Kyrano, holding attendance on Tin-Tin, entered the lounge.

Gordon spun around to face them. "Do you have it?"

Startled, Alan stared at him. "Of course, I don't. It was there one minute and gone the next..."

"How'd you know that!"

"Tin-Tin told me."

"Tin-Tin...?" Gordon gaped at the young lady. "Why were you in my room?"

"Your room?" Tin-Tin looked confused. "I have not been in your room."

"Mister Gordon," Kyrano gave a differential bow, but his eyes were watching the younger man keenly. "How did you know about the loss of my Tin-Tin's necklace?"

"Tin-Tin's necklace?" Seeing that his friend was trying not to appear upset, Gordon lost some of his anger. "Which necklace? What's happened to it?"

"Do you not know?"

"No. Which necklace?" Gordon repeated.

Tin-Tin took a stabilising breath. "It was a special one. Given to me by a special friend." Her glance at the younger man standing at her shoulder and holding her arm, wasn't missed by anybody. "It was silver. A silver heart… I mean… half a valentine. It had hi... initials on it... In such a pretty shade of blue."

"What's wrong with everyone today? Everyone's losing things." Jeff gave up looking for his pen. "Where did you lose it?"

"I had it hanging over my mirror, so I'd see it every morning." Tin-Tin managed to hold back a sniff. "And now it's gone."

"Better go and tell Scott to look for that as well," Gordon advised. "Since he's already mid-search."

"In where?"

"Gordon..." Jeff growled. "What reason would Virgil have for taking Tin-Tin's necklace?"

"Virgil?"

"What reason would he have for taking my medal?"

"Hold on, hold on." Alan held up his hand. "Virgil took your medal?"

"Yes!"

"No," Jeff corrected. "He's given you his word that he didn't, Gordon. Scott's only checking his room to prove that, and on the off chance that his tuning fork's in there."

"Then where's it gone? No one else has a reason to take it."

"And why would Virgil take your medal?" Alan queried. "I'm assuming you mean your Olympic one."

"Because he thinks I took his tuning fork."

"But you said that you didn't. Surely that's good enough for him. For both of you."

Jeff walked over to the patio. "Virgil? Would you mind coming in here for a moment?"

Virgil obeyed instantly, his face dropping into a scowl when he saw Gordon. "Yes?"

"Have you seen Tin-Tin's necklace? It's a silver half-valentine. She's lost it."

"So, because you think I took Gordon's medal, you think I'm responsible for this too?!"

"Of course not," Jeff soothed. "I'm not accusing you. I'm just asking. I thought you might have seen the necklace while you've been looking for your tuning fork."

Virgil lost his scowl as he shook his head. "No. Sorry, Tin-Tin."

"Oh, well." She applied a brave face. "I'm sure it'll turn up."

It wasn't many seconds later when Scott returned to the lounge.

Virgil was instantly on the attack. "You didn't find anything, did you?"

"Huh?" Scott appeared to have his mind on other things.

"You didn't find my tuning fork _or_ Gordon's medal, did you?"

"Uh? Oh. No... No, I didn't."

Jeff wasn't the first to see his son's preoccupation, but he was the first to query it. "What's wrong, Scott?"

"My wings... My pilot's wings... They've gone."

Scott's pilot's wings were displayed on the wall of his bedroom in pride of place, surrounded by other flying memorabilia and they all knew that they meant every bit as much to him as his mother's tuning fork did to Virgil and the Olympic gold to Gordon.

"The mosquitos were starting to bite, so I went into my room to shut the window and turn the air conditioning on. That's when I realised my wings were gone... I've shut your window too, Virg."

"Thanks."

"We don't want them in here, either." Pushing the necessary two buttons, Alan shut the patio doors and started the near-silent air conditioner whirring. A bird, strutting along the balcony railing, snapped its beak at a passing insect. "That's one less we've got to worry about."

Unaware of the Tracys' stressful afternoon, Lady Penelope entered the lounge. "I do not wish to concern anyone, but I appear to have misplaced my compact."

Her wish may have been to not cause concern, but the instant effect was to send a tsunami of consternation through the Tracys.

"Your communication compact?" Despite his worries over the potential complications of the loss, Jeff was determined to remain calm.

"Sadly, yes."

"Where did you last see it?"

"In my room."

"I haven't been in Penny's room!"

Not expecting the twin onslaught from two Tracys, Lady Penelope stared at Gordon and Virgil.

Jeff held up his hand. "I think we've ascertained that neither of you had anything to do with the other's loss," he stated. "And we have no reason to believe that you have anything to do with Scott's wings, Tin-Tin's necklace, and Penny's compact's disappearance." He looked across at her Ladyship. "Is the GPS operational?"

"No. I always turn it off when I am, ah, replenishing the powder."

"This is starting to sound serious," Alan stated. "Are they the only things missing? Maybe we should check all our rooms?"

Jeff nodded his agreement. "We'll meet back here as soon as we can." He retreated to International Rescue's control centre and readied the communications console.

Rather than hurrying out the door, Tin-Tin turned to him. "Should we ask Mrs Tracy and Brains to check as well?"

"Good idea. Do you want to ask Brains? I'll tell Mother."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

But Jeff was saved from his chore when, wringing her apron, Grandma bustled in. "I'm so sorry, everyone."

"Sorry?" Everyone gaped at her.

There'd been so many false accusations this afternoon, that Jeff decided that he'd better take the cautious approach. "Sorry for what, Mother?"

"Dinner's going to be late. I was going to make something special in honour of our guests," Mrs Tracy smiled at Lady Penelope, "but I can't find my measuring spoons. They're those lovely enamelled ones that you gave me for my birthday, Penelope; such pretty colours; but I can't find them for love nor money. I have others, but this set is so beautifully balanced."

"Where did you have them, Grandma?" Scott checked. "The kitchen?"

She looked at him as if he were mad. "Of course."

"A lot of things have disappeared today, Mother," Jeff explained. "And we're all going to check our rooms to see if anything else is missing. You might like to do the same."

"Missing...?"

Scott, two steps from the door, stopped walking when he realised that his father's desk was descending from the ceiling. "Aren't you going to check yours?"

"I will." Jeff nodded. "But I want to check something else first... Base to Thunderbird Five."

Totally unaware of the upheavals going on in his family home, and seeing most of the island's occupants in the lounge, John smiled down on everyone. "Are we having a party?"

No one was in a party mood.

A mood which didn't improve when Brains walked into the room. "H-Has anyone seen my magnifying glass?"

There was a groan from most of those assembled.

Jeff looked at the younger man over his spectacles. "Which magnifying glass, Brains?"

"Th-The one given to me by my university. The little one with the cloisonné surround and the gold handle."

"And you've checked everywhere you think it should be?"

"Yes. I have been most methodical."

"I'm sure you have. Your magnifying glass is the latest in a number of items that have disappeared."

"D-D-Disappeared?"

"I was just about to ask John to check the perimeter stations to see if there have been any breaches."

"You were?" John looked astonished at the suggestion. Then he started typing into his computer, asking Thunderbird Five to access and communicate with each sensor positioned around the edge of the island. "North coast... Negative..."

While his son worked, Jeff turned back to the rest of the group. "Has anyone else lost anything? Alan?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so. But I haven't been in my room this afternoon."

"East coast... Negative..."

"Kyrano?"

"There was a crystal that hung in my garden bringing forth the colours of the rainbow. It is there no more."

"West coast... Negative..."

"Father!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "You did not tell me?"

"I made this discovery moments before you discovered your loss. Your loss was more important than mine."

"South coast... ... Negative. There is no record of any unknown incursions into Tracy Island."

If Jeff thought that John's announcement was going to make him feel any better, he was wrong. "Check again, Thunderbird Five."

"But..." John decided there was no point arguing. He ran the programme a second time.

Jeff grabbed a pad. "I think that everyone should go and check their rooms. Report back here in an hour and we'll make a list of everything that's missing..." Removing his spectacles he peered at his desk. "Has anyone seen my pen...?"

-F-A-B-

By the time that everyone had returned to the lounge, reporting that the object that they'd lost was the only item that was missing, John had re-run the intruder programme a second time, feeding each record through multiple filters and was in the process of personally checking video of a couple of likely bays to convince himself, and his family, that the coast was literally clear.

Hopeful, although unsure exactly what he was hoping for, Jeff looked up at the first portrait in the row. "Did you find anything, John?"

"Negative. The last vehicle to approach Tracy Island was Penny's plane. Before that, it was Thunderbirds One and Two."

"So, there's no one else on the island?"

"No. The only people on Tracy Island are in the lounge with you." John took a roll call of those standing before the camera. "And Parker."

 _To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

It was a restless night where everyone, their minds filled with "whodunnit", got little sleep.

The morning sun found Parker standing on the beach and wishing he was somewhere far away from this place.

Lady Penelope had given him the day off, with the strict instructions that he was to relax. She did not require his assistance and, in the unlikely chance that she did, she would summon him on his watch.

But how could he relax? To Aloysius Parker, Tracy Island was no longer a tropical paradise. Now it felt claustrophobic, where every conversation, no matter how pleasant or inane, had an oppressive undertone. Despite the heat, he felt cold.

A bird screeched somewhere to his right and he flinched. He was a city man and, aside from having to clean the occasional pigeon or sparrow dropping off FAB1, wasn't used to the huge amount of wildlife that roamed free on the island. Even as he watched, skin crawling, a large crab wandered down to the high tide mark, and began sifting its breakfast out of the wet sands.

It wasn't as if anyone had accused him of the thefts, even though nothing in his room had been touched. It was more that each and every one of them were going out of their way to prove to him that they couldn't believe that he would betray them and that they were glad he wasn't a victim too. If they'd said that once, he would have been okay, but they felt the need to ram the point home at every opportunity, as if they were trying to prove it to themselves, as well as to him.

And so here he was; on the beach, clad in a blindingly bright Hawaiian shirt, green Bermuda shorts, socks and sandals, a floppy straw hat; feeling lonely and ostracised, and with no idea how to occupy himself.

Unless...

Unless _he_ solved the mystery. He'd been on the wrong side of the law often enough to know how the old Bill thought. And he'd been with Lady Penelope long enough to know how a top-class investigator worked.

Pleased with his idea he retreated to the cool of his air-conditioned room, grabbed his personal computer, fired up a spreadsheet, and began to take notes.

In column A he listed who the victims were. Column B was what was stolen. Column C recorded where the theft occurred.

Then he began to look for patterns...

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy was equally keen to discover where their treasures had gone to, but he intended to enlist the help of others to get to the bottom of the mystery. As soon as John was awake, he told him that he planned to have a meeting at the earliest opportunity.

"What about?"

"These..." Scott hesitated over the word thefts. "Disappearances."

"Ah... I wish I could check my room to see if I'm missing anything."

"Do you want me to check it out?"

"No, thanks, Scott. Unless it's glaringly obvious, like my bed, you won't know what's there and what's not."

Scott had to concede that his brother had a good point.

Now, two hours later, alongside three of his brothers and Tin-Tin, and with John looking down from what had been one of Virgil's paintings until seconds earlier, Scott sat in his room and started deliberations. "Right! First let's deal with the elephant in the room. Put your hand up if you don't, that is _do not_ , believe that Parker's responsible."

There was a unanimous showing of hands.

"He's not that stupid." John, emboldened by the fact that he was 36,000 kilometres away from the house, didn't feel the pressure to tip-toe around the subject. "He's an old hand at burgling. He'd know better than to do it some place where there's a limited list of suspects and he'd be head of that list. And he'd take things we wouldn't miss straight away; stuff that he could offload quickly and easily. _And_ why start now when he's had years of opportunities, sometimes when most of us weren't here to catch him out? ... Unless it's a double-bluff."

"John!"

"I'm just saying!" he protested. "I honestly can't believe that Parker's responsible."

"The thing is," Virgil began, "if we take him out of the equation, and I agree we should, it reduces our list of suspects – and each of those suspects is either a member of the family or someone we trust intimately."

"Are you sure we haven't been invaded, John?" Gordon double-checked.

"Very sure," John hmphed. "I checked and re-checked."

"And I checked Father's computer last night," Scott added.

"What!?" John folded his arms in a huff. "So you don't trust me either? Now I know what Parker's going through."

"I didn't do it, because I didn't trust you! I thought a third pair of eyes might see something that you and the computer didn't."

"We all trust you, John," Tin-Tin told him.

"Don't burst your boiler over it, John," Gordon warned his elder brother. "It's gonna get hot enough in here as it is." He turned back to Scott. "How hot does it have to be before you turn the air conditioner on?"

"All right, all right," Scott grumbled. "I'll do it." He got up and slid his window shut before pushing the button that forced cool air into the room. "Happy now?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Let's look at what was stolen," John suggested, deciding to forget his earlier huff. "It's mostly stuff that has a sentimental value over a monetary one... At least to their owner. Speaking of which... Did you have anything taken, Alan?"

"Ah... Yeah."

"Yes?" Gordon looked at his younger brother. "You never said you'd lost anything."

"It was only a, erm, chain," Alan told him with what was supposed to be an unconcerned shrug. "Everyone else was already upset, and I didn't want to add my loss to the mix."

"Was it valuable?"

"It had, ah, a value."

"Sentimental or monetary?"

Alan turned pink. "Both," he mumbled.

"What kind of chain?" Virgil queried. "Can you describe it?"

"It's a chain! Let's concentrate on the bigger picture, okay? Find everyone else's stuff and you'll most likely find it."

Scott got out his tablet PC and started typing – the spreadsheet replicated up in Thunderbird Five and on his wall where everyone else could see it. "We'll make a list. _Column A_... _The_... _victims_..."

"You make it sound like we've been mugged," Virgil told him.

Scott, midway through his list of familiar names, looked up at him. "Doesn't it feel like you've been violated?"

"I guess so."

" _Column B_... _What_... _was_... _stolen_... ... _Father_..."

"The gold pen he was given by the World President after he'd helped Bangladesh get back on its feet after the flooding," Gordon reminded him.

" _Grandma_..."

"Measuring spoons."

"Very special measuring spoons," Tin-Tin corrected. "Made by England's top craftspeople."

"Right... _Kyrano_... _Crystal out of the garden_."

"That was a gift from me," Tin-Tin admitted. "I made it out of chromanomium."

" _Tin-Tin_... _Necklace..._ "

" _Special_ necklace from a special person."

" _Special… necklace…_ " Scott made his note. " _Penny_... _Compact_..." He looked up at John. "I'm glad you didn't find any evidence of an invasion. I'd be seriously worried if that got into the wrong hands."

"Me too."

" _Parker_... Nothing... Me... My _wings_... _John_... Unknown... _Virgil_..."

"Why didn't you do this before?" Alan complained. "The rest of us have things to do."

" _Tuning fork_..." Scott quoted, ignoring his youngest brother.

" _Ma's_ tuning fork," Virgil corrected.

" _Ma's tuning fork_..."

Finally, column B was filled.

"Right." Scott looked up at the assembled, but bored, gathering. "What do we put in column C?

"Where the items were allegedly taken from."

"Allegedly?" Gordon gave John a sharp look.

"Some of them may have been taken from where they were supposed to be by their owner, prior to their disappearance."

"My medal never leaves my room."

"I wasn't thinking about your medal."

"My tuning fork never leaves the lounge."

"My necklace has always hung on my mirror. I only wear it when I'm going out somewhere special. I haven't been anywhere special in months."

"Same with my, er, chain."

"All right, all right." John held up his hand to stop the complaints. "Scratch allegedly."

Scott typed in all the locations, noting that the programme's autofill option frequently duplicated _bedroom_ , copied _lounge_ once, and didn't have to do its job with _kitchen_ or _garden_. "Whoever did this had the cheek, or guts, to raid our private living quarters."

John stared at his copy of the list. "It's the start of a pattern. Do we know what order the disappearances happened?"

"I know that my tuning fork disappeared while I was at Scott's meeting," Virgil told him. "I was only gone for ten minutes at the most."

John stared at him. "That's brazen. Or opportune."

"And Gordon was behind me, so that cuts the available time down till after he'd sloshed through the lounge."

"Unless Gordon took it," Alan joked, and received a less than impressed look from his brother.

"He didn't," Virgil stated.

"Okay..." Remembering the time that he'd decreed that the meeting was to start, Scott wrote that down next to Virgil's name with the approximate finishing time in the column following. "Do you know when Father lost his pen?"

"He started looking for it after the tuning fork disappeared. Whether it had gone _before_ then, I don't know."

Scott duplicated the times with the addendum: _(possibly)_. "Anyone else able to give an approximate time of disappearance?"

"I was giving the polish on my medal a chance to dry," Gordon recollected. "I went for a swim while I was doing that, and then got called into your meeting, before I helped Virgil hunt for the tuning fork... And then I went and played a joke on somebody..."

Tin-Tin's lips thinned. "I remember."

"And got a bawling out for doing it. It was only after that that I remembered my medal wasn't in its display case."

"How long was your swim?"

Gordon pursed his lips and thought. "Ten minutes?"

"And the joke?"

"Ten minutes to set up. Ten minutes to execute."

"And the bawling out?"

"Five... And then I had to clean up. That took about five minutes too."

Scott looked at Tin-Tin, who nodded her agreement at the joker's assessment. "So... Your swim, plus the meeting, plus the time we spent looking for Virgil's medal, plus whatever you did to Tin-Tin and the consequences... Say a window of sixty minutes?"

"That'll do."

"Any ideas when your chain could have gone missing, Alan?"

"I left my room before we decided to watch that stupid movie and I didn't go back until we were all checking to see if anything was missing. So, it was vacant about six hours."

"And I was about the same," Scott made another note. "Give or take ten to fifteen minutes." He looked up. "Tin-Tin?"

"I, erm, returned to my room throughout the day," she admitted, with a slight flush to her cheeks. "But I didn't look at my mirror and see that my necklace had gone until just before dinner."

"It was too hot to be in the kitchen all day, so Grandma was only in there to make dinner," Virgil recollected, "and Kyrano made lunch, so he was in the kitchen then."

"Which means that he wasn't in the garden at lunchtime," Scott noted.

"He was working in the vegetable garden for most of the day," Tin-Tin informed him. "The crystal was in the flower greenhouse."

Dropping his tablet onto his lap, Scott sat back. "So, whoever took everything, with the exception of Virgil's tuning fork, had ample time to execute their plan."

"But why take what they took?" John asked. "As we said before, most of it has a higher sentimental value than monetary one."

Scott sighed. "Okay... Column F... _M Monetary or S sentimental value_..."

-F-A-B-

Parker had done a similar series of lists, coming to the same conclusion as the group in Scott's room. They had no idea who, what, when, or why had "dunnit".

Short of ideas he decided to take a walk, or "case the joint" as he might have said in another life.

Not wanting to be near the Tracys' accommodation block until he had absolutely no choice, he went into the kitchen.

"Hello, Parker."

"Oh!" He'd wanted to do his examination alone, not with an audience. "'Ello, Mrs Tracy."

"Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

Parker wasn't hungry, but it was an excuse to explain why he was there. "Yes, please, Mrs Tracy."

"What would you like? Cake? A sandwich? Ice cream?"

Theorising that it would at least keep him cool while he tracked through the complex, and that he could observe the kitchen whilst he ate, Parker chose: "H-Ice cream. H-If h-it won't put you h-out, ma'am?"

"It won't put me out at all. Just a minute and I'll get you some." Grandma bustled about, before presenting him with a bowl filled with three scoops of homemade ice cream; creamy white, with swirls of green, and chunky lumps of brown.

"Ta, H-I mean, thank you, Mrs Tracy."

She chuckled.

Parker's first mouthful almost made him forget his quest. "This h-is smashing, Mrs T!"

"Thank you." She dimpled at the compliment. "It's vanilla and mint with chocolate chips. Although I think there's more vanilla than mint in it, and it's not as good as it would have been if I had my good measuring spoons..." Suddenly aware of what she'd said and who to, Grandma blushed. "Of course, I know full well that you didn't take them, Parker."

"H-I know you know. Be good h-if we could find h-out oo did h-it."

"It would be. It's horrible being suspicious of everyone while knowing that no one here would do such a thing. I almost wish that John had found an intruder on the island."

"H-I know what you mean." The room was hot, and Parker resisted the temptation to place the chilled bowl against his forehead. "Don't you 'ave h-air conditioning h-in 'ere?"

"I do, but I prefer fresh air." Grandma indicated the open window. "Kyrano's garden's just out there and it smells heavenly at this time of the year. In fact, at about this time of day, the sunlight would hit his crystal and I used to get a rainbow of colours in here. It was so pretty."

"Bet h-it was." Kyrano finished up the last of his ice cream and carried the bowl over to the sink.

"Just leave it there," Grandma told him. "I'll put it in to wash with the rest of the dishes."

"Thanks, Mrs T. H-I'll get h-out from h-under your feet."

"You're not under my feet, Parker. It's a pleasure to talk to you."

Feeling buoyed by her parting words, Parker left the kitchen and headed for the lounge, glad to see that this time he was alone. What remained of the piano tuning tools had been carefully packed away and Jeff's desk was neat and tidy with no stray paperwork to conceal anything.

He stepped up onto the polished surface of the platform that was the piano's stage and felt his sandal slide out from underneath him. Grabbing the piano, he managed to stop himself from landing flat on his back.

Using the musical instrument to keep his balance, he checked his sandal's sole, seeing a smear of white, green and brown there. "Musta got some h-of me h-ice cream h-on me shoe. 'Ope H-I didn't track h-it through the 'ouse."

But looking back, Parker could see no trace of the creamy dessert.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a packet of alcohol-infused wipes; a hangover from this days on the other side of the law. Then, he'd use them to wipe down any potential fingerprints left at the scene of the crime. Nowadays, he kept them close to remove any scuff marks that threatened to spoil her Ladyship's pristine bags.

He wiped the mess off his shoe and was about to consign it to the nearest rubbish bin when something made him stop.

It didn't look like ice cream.

A cautious sniff confirmed that it wasn't.

"H-I wonder..."

Using another wipe, he removed the smudge from the floor, before using a third to get rid of his own smudges from the piano's gleaming white paint.

With the inkling of an idea forming, he descended the outdoor steps, deposited his three wipes into a bin, and then walked away from the villa; stopping when he had a good view of the windows and balconies of the accommodation block. As he'd expected, all but one, Scott's, had a window or door open. "So that's 'ow you got h-in."

Time to lay a trap to catch the culprit, but what could he use as bait?

He made a decision.

Taking the outside path that skirted the villa, Parker approached the gardens that supplied much of the family's food. "Mister Kyrano..."

Kyrano straightened from where he was hidden behind one plant as he tended to another. "Mister Parker?"

Parker saw some netting of the type that was draped over plants to stop birds from feasting on ripe, juicy fruits. "H-I couldn't scrounge some h-of that, could H-I? H-I'll try not to use too much."

Kyrano, with a confused bow, handed the roll over. "If you have a use for it, you are welcome to use it."

"Thanks. Erm... You wouldn't h-also 'appen to 'ave a wicker basket h-or some such H-I could borrow, would ya?"

A small frown creased Kyrano's forehead. "A wicker basket? I do, and you may."

Parker grinned as he was handed the small bag with its flip-up lid. "Ta, mate... H-I mean, thank you, Mister Kyrano. H-I shall return h-it h-as soon h-as H-I can."

"There is no rush. I have no need for it at present."

After another thank you, Parker entered the house, retreating to the cool of his room. The blast of the air conditioner, so refreshing after the heat of the sun outside, made him reconsider his plan. Then he emptied his pack onto the bed, replacing its contents with a box of tissues from his bedside table, a tablet PC, and a roll of duct tape; and returned to the tropical sun.

He made his way down to the courtyard that surrounded the pool.

After dragging one of the tables out from under a shady umbrella, he then shifted one of the more comfortable seats until it was partially hidden by the shade of a palm tree. Tucking Kyrano's basket, the net, and his pack out of the way, he removed his watch from his arm, set the GPS so it was sending a signal to the tablet, placed the timepiece face up on the exposed table, and then retreated to the chair.

And then he sat down to wait.

-F-A-B-

Alan scowled at the chart on the wall. "We're getting nowhere!"

"We are getting somewhere," John insisted. "We've just got to look for commonalities."

"Commonalities? Like what? Like the fact that every theft was made from our home?"

"Face it, John," Virgil added. "There are only eleven suspects. As much as none of us like the thought of it, it has to be one of us that's doing it."

Scott nodded his agreement. "Virg is right. Maybe the question shouldn't be who, but why? What reason would any of us have to steal from the others? If we can answer that, we might be able to work out who that person is... And get them some help."

Gordon stared at him. "Help?"

"Stealing from anyone, especially from the extended family, is not something we'd expect any of us to do. If one of us _is_ doing it, then they're doing against their will."

"What? You mean someone's doing something like sleep walking? Sleep stealing?"

"All the thefts happened during the day when no one was asleep, so no, I don't think that's the answer."

Alan had his face creased up in thought. "Maybe whoever it is, is under the influence of some external power?"

John frowned. "Blackmail?"

"Oh, yeah..." Alan looked like he hadn't considered that. "I was thinking along the lines of someone else remotely controlling them and what they're doing."

"Remotely? That sounds a little too farfetched, Alan."

"And," Tin-Tin added, "if that is the case, why is whoever is the pawn in this..."

"Science fiction," Gordon interrupted.

"...scheme, or blackmail, being told to only take one thing? And for that thing to be something that doesn't have much value except to its owner?"

"To spread discontent and distrust amongst us?"

"Well..." Virgil glanced at Gordon and received a knowing wink in reply. "If that's their plan, it only had limited success."

"I wasn't suggesting some long-range, science fiction, hocus pocus," Scott told everyone. "Although I'll admit that blackmail's an option. I was thinking more along the lines of kleptomania. The compulsion to steal."

"Which could mean that out of everyone, including you guys, I'm the only one who's not a suspect." John sounded almost too delighted at the thought.

"Here's a leftfield idea," Virgil offered. "What if the perpetrator isn't human?" He saw the frowns surrounding him. "What if someone's hacked into Braman and is controlling _him_ remotely?"

Everyone looked at one another. The idea that a robot, even Brains' robot, could be the perpetrator, and not someone close to them, was a lifeline to be clung to. The sense of relief, even though there was no proof of Virgil's theory, was palpable.

Tin-Tin sighed. "Brains will be devastated if this is the case."

Scott nodded "We won't suggest it to him until we have proof. Can you hack into Braman's software, John?"

"Give me a moment. I'm just checking to see if Brains is working with him at present... No, we're clear. I'm going in..."

They waited, unwilling to say or do anything until he'd finished his task.

"No viruses... No Trojan horses... No unexplained code... And... he's been turned off for the past week. Sorry, fellas, it's not Braman."

"What other projects has Brains been working on?" Gordon asked. "Any chance there's another robot? One that's gone a little haywire?"

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I am not aware that he is working on any robotic project."

Frustrated, they all sat back.

Gordon threw his hands up in frustration. "Instead of sitting here, doing nothing, we should be doing something!"

Swivelling in his seat, Alan turned to look at him. "Like what?"

"Like setting a trap."

"All right." Scott leant closer to his prankster brother. "What do you have in mind?" He watched as a sly grin crossed Gordon's face.

"There's one person who hasn't been stolen from yet."

"Uh, uh." John saw five pairs of eyes looking at him. "I'm locking my rooms so that no one can get in. Especially you guys!" He entered a code into Thunderbird Five's computer. "Done. It's locked down tighter than the Bank of England after Light-Fingered Fred was captured the second time."

"Come on, John," Gordon cajoled. "Think of it as an experiment."

"One without clear guidelines, poor control, and shoddy methodology."

"Your stuff won't be in any danger. We'll be watching it like a hawk."

"How?"

"Remote cameras. Motion sensor beams. CCTV. You'll even be able to keep an eye on everything yourself from Thunderbird Five."

"No."

"Please, John," Scott pleaded. "Just for one day. You don't know what it's like to be living here wondering who's going to be hit next..."

"Well, it's not going to be me."

"...and who's responsible."

John hesitated. Scott was right. He didn't know what that was like. Heaving a deep sigh, he gave a reluctant nod and reversed the code. "Just remember that there are at least three flaws in your plan, Gordon."

"What are they?"

"One: If the kleptomaniac, or whatever, is one of you guys, you'll either know to steer clear of my room; or remember where the cameras and everything else are so you can avoid them. Two: If it's not one of you guys, the culprit could see you at work in a suite you should be nowhere near and know something's up. Either that or you'll all get the blame."

Gordon had to admit that they were flaws. But it didn't mean that he was willing to give up on his plan just yet. "And the third thing?"

"We don't know if I've had anything stolen, yet. My rooms could have been cleared out."

Scott stood. "Well, we're about to find that out. Thanks for the go ahead, John. We'll let you know how it pans out."

"Oh, no you don't. I'm coming with you. Wear a camera so I can see what you're seeing..."

What the Tracy boys and Tin-Tin saw, when they accessed John's scrupulously tidy suite, was a scene of complete harmony and order.

"Well, John?" Virgil, a video camera clipped to his shoulder, did a slow pan around the first of three rooms. "Anything look out of place?"

"No. It looks fine... Geez, you're short. I feel like I'm wandering around my room on my knees."

"Hey!" Virgil put his hand to the camera's off/on switch. "I can shut this down, you know."

"Oh, no you don't. I want to see everyth… Alan! Get out of my drawers!"

Alan slammed the drawer home. "I was just checking to see if anything was missing."

"Everything that was lost was in plain sight," Scott reminded him. "Waiting for a quick snatch and run."

"It was?" Standing in the middle of John's room, Alan thought. "Oh, yeah. So, it was. That's another commonality. Why didn't you put that on your spreadsheet?"

Scott preferred mulling over other questions to answering Alan's. "The thing is... what would our miscreant want to take of yours, John?"

"Nothing."

"There must be something that you have a sentimental attachment to."

"Nope. I'm an unsentimental guy."

Alan snickered. "This from the man who cried when Bambi's mother died."

"I hadn't seen the movie before, and I only saw it then because Tin-Tin wanted to see it and you were both too young to go without an adult. I didn't know the deer was going to be left an orphan."

Tin-Tin giggled. "I think you were more upset about that scene than I was, John."

Gordon pounced on something. "How about this?"

"Gordon..." There was a definite growl in John's recitation of the name. "Put my star globe down."

Gordon turned the tennis ball-sized spherical representation of the heavens in his hands, examining it. "Didn't that famous astronomer present it to you when you were a kid."

"Yes, he did. Now put it down."

"Because you won a quiz or something?"

"Because they thought my explanation of ... Gordon! Put! That! Down!"

Grinning at his brothers and Tin-Tin, Gordon placed the globe that he'd been lightly tossing from hand to hand back on its pedestal. "I think we've found what we want."

Agreeing, the rest of the group hustled about, placing "tripwire" lasers and cameras about the room so that the star globe was well and truly in the spotlight.

And then, making sure that no one saw their clandestine activity, they left the room, promising a nervous John that they'd keep an eye on it 24/7.

-F-A-B-

It was later in the day and Parker had nearly dozed off when he became aware of some activity to his right. Keeping rock still, so he wouldn't be seen in the shadows, he watched to see what was about to happen. He not only wanted to catch the culprit in the act; he wanted to find where the loot was stashed.

He watched as a shifty looking individual cased the joint to see if they were being observed, scuttled closer to the table on two silent feet, examined his watch, picked it up as if they were about make off with their bounty, and then dropped it back down.

Parker almost groaned when his suspect, clearly concerned that they'd been seen and were about to be caught, fled for the trees. He now knew who the guilty party was. How was he going to bring the miscreant to justice, without the evidence required to support his accusation?

He was almost ready to give up his sleuthing for the day – or at least until the cooler hours of the early evening – when he was shocked to see the culprit swoop in, scoop up his watch, and hightail it out of there.

Parker was on his feet just as fast and, pack on his back, tablet, basket, and net in his hands, running after the thief.

-F-A-B-

"Still there," John gleefully told his fellow sleuths.

His father looked up from his desk in the lounge. "What's still there?"

Scott glared at his younger brother. "John was concerned that some of his things might go missing, so we set up a camera in his rooms so he could keep an eye on them." Whilst not strictly correct, he told himself that he wasn't lying to his father.

Jeff approved of the supposed precautions. "I hate to say it, but the way things are at the moment, that's not a silly idea."

Gordon had delved into International Rescue's stockpile of miscellaneous equipment and found an acoustic generator. Standing patiently at the piano's side, adjusting the generator's frequency until it matched each note, he'd assisted Virgil as the instrument was tuned until it sang as sweetly as the day Virgil first saw it in the shop. Then, at his brother's suggestion, he'd got his guitar and the pair were now enjoying a quiet jam session together.

Alan and Tin-Tin were participating in a game of tag chess against Brains, hoping that with their combined intelligence, they might at least manage to win one game over him. That, despite several errors on his part, they still weren't managing to overcome him, spoke volumes of the stresses they were all under.

Grandma was sitting in one of the easy chairs, her uneasiness revealed by the way that she was chatting to Kyrano as quickly as her knitting needles flashed and her latest project was revealed. He, instead of politely listening and replying when necessary, appeared to be in a world of his own.

That was until Lady Penelope entered the room. "Has anyone seen Parker? I cannot find my cerise blouse in any of my cases."

"Parker?" As one, the room stilled, while each individual tried to remember the last time they'd seen the missing man.

"He had an ice cream this morning," Grandma recollected. She checked her watch. "I hope it hasn't spoilt his lunch."

"He came to see me in the garden some time ago," Kyrano added. "He wished to borrow several items off me. He did not tell me for what purpose."

Hearing some sounds from outside, including what sounded like a mild curse, Gordon went to the patio door and looked down. "We may be about to find out."

When Parker finally staggered into the lounge, it was with the biggest grin they'd seen in days. He was dirty, his Hawaiian shirt was torn, his big toe had pierced his right sock, he appeared to be wrapped up in netting, and there were scratches on his cheek and down his nose. But he still greeted everyone with a big "'Ello, h-all."

"Parker!" Lady Penelope exclaimed. "Where have you been and what have you been doing?"

Putting the wicker basket on the floor with a squeak, he attempted to swing his pack off his back, and succeeded in getting caught up in the netting. "Could you 'elp me, Mister Gordon?"

"Of course." Gordon assisted the older man with the untangling of the twisted material.

"Ta." Parker laid his pack with care on the floor. "H-I've been busy."

"It looks it," Virgil told him.

Crouching down, Parker delved into his pack, pulling out the depleted box of tissues. Then he withdrew a small parcel wrapped in some of the squares of flimsy paper. "This h-is yours, Mister Brains. H-I don't think h-it's damaged."

The wicker basket let out a squawk.

"Quiet down there," Parker directed. "H-I found the best way to serve me time was to keep me 'ead down h-and me nose clean, h-and H-I'd advise you to do the same... Sorry, Mister Brains." He handed over the parcel.

As mystified as most of the people in the room, Brains accepted the tissues with a "th-thank you," and a nervous glance at the gyrating basket. Torn between that phenomenon and the tissue-wrapping, everyone watched as he unveiled the contents of the parcel.

The final tissue fell free and he let out a gasp. "My magnifying glass!" He examined it quickly, relieved to see that it was scratch and chip free. "Where did you find it?"

"Laid a trap," Parker said smugly. "Once H-I realised that you h-all 'ad windas h-and doors h-open to the h-outside, I could h-imagine a tea leaf like old Corvie here..."

"Corvie?"

"H-I think 'e's some kind h-of corvidae; a magpie, h-or rook, h-or some such thing. He was tryin' to attract the ladies, with the prettiest trinkets he could find h-in what H-I think they call a bower. H-It must be breedin' season." Reaching into his bag, Parker withdrew another tissue-wrapped parcel. "That h-one feels like yours, Mister Virgil."

"My tuning fork?" Virgil hurried forward. His fingers fumbled the wrapping as he tried to wrench the tissue free. "It is!" He tapped the tool on his hand and fork emitted the 440 Hz pure sound of "concert A".

Corvie squawked in a discordant duet.

Next Parker pulled out a smaller, single tissue, parcel. Unwrapping it, he walked across the room. "Going by the h-initials, H-I think this could be your necklace, Miss Tin-Tin."

"It is?" Delighted, Tin-Tin held up her treasure. "Thank you, Parker…"

Surprised by the way her voice had suddenly gone flat, Kyrano, on her right, took a step towards her. "Is something wrong, my Daughter?"

"It is not mine." Tin-Tin held the necklace out to the man on her left.

Blushing scarlet, Alan grabbed the silver half-valentine, and shoved it into his pocket. "Thanks, Parker," he mumbled.

"Then this h-one," taking an equally small parcel out of his pocket, and with a small bow, Parker gave it to Tin-Tin, "must be yours."

Tin-Tin's face brightened again as she accepted the charm, the mirror image of Alan's except for its "AT" decoration. Beaming, she hung it around her neck.

Parker returned to his bag. "Ol' Corvie musta wanted to get some wings to prove 'e was h-allowed to fly," he explained to Scott as he held out the next parcel.

"Cheek!" Scott told the wicker basket as a beak tried to push its way out from under the duct-taped lid. "You've already got yours. I had to earn mine." Grinning, he added: "Thanks, Parker."

"M'Lady." Striding across the floor, Parker presented her with a circular package.

"Well done, Parker," Lady Penelope congratulated him. "Now to confirm that, ah, 'Corvie' hasn't caused any irreparable damage." She flicked the compact open. "Lady Penelope calling Thunderbird Five."

A beeping sound was heard from the first picture frame. "This is Thunderbird Five," John announced. "Receiving you, strength five, Penny."

Hearing his voice through her speakers, Lady Penelope snapped the compact shut. "Thank you, Parker."

"H'It was my pleasure, m'Lady." Diving back into his pack like a roguish Santa Claus, Parker held out a six-tissue, duct taped, parcel. "Bet these could cook h-up some real good h-ice cream."

"And the first batch will be all yours," Grandma dimpled at him. "Just tell me what flavour you'd like."

Encouraged by everyone's good humour, Parker winked at Jeff as he handed over the long, cylindrical, parcel. "H-And you can use this h-one to cook the books."

Jeff laughed as he accepted his pen. "Thanks, Parker."

"Mister G..." Parker saw Gordon make a move. "...G-Kyrano. Corvie musta been really h-impressed with your crystal. 'E'd hung h-it h-on a branch h-as beacon to the passin' ladies.

Accepting the tissue-wrapped item, Kyrano bowed low. "I think you, Mister Parker."

Knowing that a certain prankish Tracy was jigging in impatience off to one side, waiting to be reunited with his missing treasure, Parker stuck his nose back into his bag. "H-I think that's h-it."

"What about my medal?" Gordon squeaked.

Parker became grave. "H-I'm sorry, Mister Gordon, but that was h-all that was h-in the bower."

"All?"

"Yep. You can check my bag h-if you like."

Trying not to snatch the pack from the older man's fingers, Gordon practically disappeared inside as he felt about in his attempts to find the gilded award and its multi-coloured ribbon.

A multi-coloured ribbon that, with a conspiring wink, Parker pulled out of his pocket so that the rest of the group could see, before shoving it back in.

Happy to see his prankster brother sweat, and determined to make the retribution last as long as possible, Virgil thought of a question. "Why do you think Corvie stole from everyone but you, Parker?"

"'Cos H-I didn't 'ave me winda h-open. There's too many bugs h-in this place, h-and H-I don't like them h-all buzzin' h-about me room. Can't see the point when you've got h-air conditioning."

"If it's breeding season…" Scott checked that the clasp holding his wings to his shirt held fast. "…there must be other 'Corvies' out there who will be just as keen to find things to decorate their nest. What can we do to stop it from happening it again? I don't know about the rest of you, but I prefer fresh air to air conditioning."

"You could h-always put some shiny h-and bright coloured h-objects h-outside, h-away from the villa," Parker suggested. "So they don't 'ave to fly h-as far h-as the 'ouse for their treasure."

"That's a good idea." Jeff tested his Parker pen, pleased to see that it had survived a flight and a night in the open. "And to make sure Corvie's not tempted to raid our home again, we'll have to install insect screens. They're ugly, and they stop the indoor/outdoor flow, but I assume it'll only be for a few weeks of the year."

Brains' brow creased in thought. "I wonder if I can come up with a sonic or photoelectric deterrent, to stop the, er, Corvidae from coming inside."

Kyrano inclined his head in approval. "I shall have to display my crystal indoors during this time."

"And I'll just make sure I'm on duty on Thunderbird Five," John offered.

Concerned that Gordon might be about to take a pocket knife to his pack, Parker turned back to where his bag had almost been turned inside out. "Did you find h-anything?"

"No." Deflated, Gordon failed to realise that the wattage of his extended family's smiles had gone up a notch. "Guess Corvie must have dropped it somewhere on his way to the bower."

"You can get a replacement made, can't you?" his father asked, only just managing to keep a straight face.

"Yeah." Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets. "But it's not the same."

Scott put a comforting arm about his younger brother's shoulders. "Until that arrives, you can help me polish my wings.

"And my star globe," John's voice came from the back of the room. "It's got your fingerprints all over it."

"I'd better cancel that order for the electronic tuner," Virgil added. "Although I suppose it would save time to have a gismo that tells me which of the notes are sharp or flat. It's not as satisfying as listening to this though." He tapped the fork and _Concert A_ was heard again.

"What you should do, Gordon," Tin-Tin told him, "is get Parker to show you where the bower was. Then you can follow the line from there to your room and see if you can find where Corvie has dropped it."

"That's not a silly idea," Gordon admitted.

"Assuming that Corvie travelled between the two, as the crow flies as it were," Alan added. "And didn't take a detour… Over the ocean."

Gordon sagged.

"I-If it would be of any a-assistance, y-ou are w-welcome to use my magnifying glass if you wish."

"Thanks for the offer, Brains, but I don't think a magnifying glass of that size will be much help. I'll probably need a telescope to look up into the trees and Thunderbird Four to look in the bay." Gordon started walking towards the patio doors. "If you can point me in the right direction, Parker, I'll make a start now."

"You'll have your lunch first, young man," his Grandma told him. "I've got some cooking to do."

He didn't look back. "I'll grab something later, Grandma."

There was a discreet cough. "Ah. Mister Gordon."

Gordon turned back. There, hanging from Parker's outstretched finger was a multi-coloured ribbon. Attached to the multi-coloured ribbon was a sparkling gold disc. "My medal!"

Parker found himself the unexpected recipient of a bear hug and an even more unexpected kiss on the cheek. "H-I didn't lie," he told the younger man. "H-I h-exaggerated the truth." He grinned at Alan.

Gordon, who'd been staring at his medal as if he couldn't believe that it was once again in his possession, looked up. "You did?"

"Yeah. Corvie's decoratin' skills musta paid h-off. 'E's found 'imself h-a Mrs Corvie h-and she's laid h-an h-egg. They'd used your medal to decorate their nest. Musta wanted to h-inspire the next generation to be the best h-in the world."

Gordon laughed.

"Come and sit down, Parker," Jeff invited, "and tell us how you found Corvie."

"Before H-I do, Mr Tracy, H-I'd like to release 'im. H-It ain't 'is fault that 'e's h-attracted to pretty things. 'E's just doin' what nature makes 'im do."

"Fair enough." Retracting his desk, Jeff stood. "But before you do release him, I'd like to have a proper look at the prisoner."

"Get a photo," John joked. "Tracy Island's most wanted."

Picking up the basket, which jumped about on his arm as Corvie attempted to fight his way out, Parker led the way to the patio.

"Everyone here?" Jeff did a head count. "We're ready, Parker."

Balancing the basket on the balcony railing, Parker pulled back the duct tape and lifted the lid. A jet-black head poked out and fixed the family with a beady eye, before hopping to the basket's rim and pecking at a shiny fastening on the railing. Then, with a caw of defiance, "Corvie" took to the skies. After doing a loop of the courtyard to orientate himself, he made a beeline for the bush; leaving only his calling card, which landed with a splat in the swimming pool.

"Hey!" Gordon called after him. "I don't do that in your nest! Don't you do it in mine!"

"Get changed, Parker, and I'll get lunch ready," Grandma suggested. "Then you can tell us how you discovered that Corvie was the thief while we're eating."

He grinned at her. "Oki doke, Mrs T."

Fully cleaned up and relaxed by the time he sat down for his midday meal, Parker wasted no time in explaining about the events that led up to the realisation that the culprit might have been of the avian variety, including the discovery of a dropping in the lounge. "H-All H-I 'ad to do was lay a trap h-and wait, h-and then follow 'im usin' me watch's GPS."

Tin-Tin beamed at him over her lunch. "How did you know the best way to catch him without hurting him?"

"When H-I was a nipper, H-I would 'oliday h-at h-an h-uncle's." Parker smiled at the memories. "He was h-a ranger h-at a reserve h-and 'e taught me 'ow to trap birds for banding. H-I'd catch them for 'im h-and 'e'd put the h-identifying plastic h-and metal bands h-on their legs." He rubbed at the scratch that ran down his nose. "Course, H-I was a lot younger h-in them days, h-and climbin' was much h-easier. H-And the h-only bird that H-I know that put h-up more h-of a fight than Corvie, was a robin redbreast. They're vicious little blighters."

"Well, we'd all like to thank you for your tenacity, Parker," Jeff toasted his colleague, as the rest followed suit. "If it wasn't for you we'd still be wondering where everything was and, probably, why more was disappearing."

Parker gave a bashful smile. "H-It were nothin', Mr Tracy. H-I got more talents than safe crackin' h-and butling."

"And we're glad you do." Wiping his hands on his serviette, Alan grinned. "See, Fellas, it was like I told you. When it came to finding out whodunnit..." He put a companionable arm about Parker's shoulders. "The butler did it."

 _The end._


End file.
